


heaven

by cherrytreebridge



Series: marching band au [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marching Band, Fluff, M/M, ch 401 bokuaka brainrot, like this is tooth rotting fluff, super sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrytreebridge/pseuds/cherrytreebridge
Summary: Akaashi doesn’t answer because he’s pulling his harness up over his head, setting his snare carefully down next to them, and his intuition was right because as soon as the barrier of a drum is out of the way Bokuto surges forward to crush Akaashi against his chest and bury his face in his shoulder. Akaashi returns the hug gratefully because this is Bokuto, and Bokuto had changed him in the past three years and helped him come out of his shell and brought him to love the small ways his bandmates say that they love him, and more than anything to love the way that he and Bokuto had connected like no one he’d ever had.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: marching band au [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831198
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	heaven

**Author's Note:**

> i always assumed Out Of Step would have spinoffs, but i really didn't expect to write one before the characters got introduced in the main story. then chapter 401 happened and i have bokuaka brainrot 
> 
> also this is a spinoff, but you don't have to read out of step to understand!
> 
> yes, heaven as in "heaven" by dj sammy featuring do

It’s always this moment, during a competition, after they’ve marched on the field to the solid beat of of his stick taps, when he’s standing completely still in his first set (six in front of the back hash, on the fifty yard line), stadium lights beating down on him and the crowd completely silent - that’s the exact moment when he looks up at the podium for the first time, and he sees his drum major climbing the ladder to stand tall above the band. 

The drum major is meant to stand out, and he does. The bright white of his uniform contrasts with the black of his band’s, gold plume matching the accents on both sets of uniforms. Before the performance begins he’s the star, representing his band as a whole, starting them off the way no one else can, but Akaashi also knows this particular drum major will give all the credit of this performance to his band, every time. 

The announcer’s voice booms overhead. “Drum Major Bokuto Koutarou, is your band ready?”

Bokuto swivels on a heel, the easy, joyful look that usually adorns his face replaced with one that’s serious and concentrated. He salutes to the crowd, who cheers as he turns back around, spins his shako off his head and sets it beside him, hands raised and ready to conduct.

“Fukurodani Academy, you may take the field in competition.”

Bokuto’s right arm swings down, counting them off. 

* * *

Akaashi was fourteen.

There were a few high schools in his area, and for the most part the choice of where to go was his. He hadn’t put a lot of thought into it - high school was high school, and it would be the same no matter where he went. 

It was tradition for the high schools to invite the middle school bands to one of their football games. He’d forgotten that fact until his band teacher announced the invite on a regular Tuesday, before class had ended. There was no fanfare, nothing special about it, just something was mentioned five minutes before the bell. As much as Akaashi enjoyed band, he didn’t expect high school marching band to change his life - didn’t quite know what it was at all, in fact - and didn’t expect band to be a big factor in where he chose to go to high school.

He realized all this, and he made the decision to go anyway. 

In comparison to his middle school, Fukurodani Academy was huge. The whole thing was nestled away in a slope of a small hill, the wide concrete sidewalks sloping up to the two-story academic buildings on the far edge of campus, pressed against the mountain. There was a courtyard in the center, benches and a few tables interspersed with the grass. Across from the main campus was a triad of baseball fields, a practice field, and two tennis courts sitting up above it. Everything was painted in a gold-grey, accented in black and white, the few trees and flowers stark against the minimalism. 

Akaashi’s first taste of Fukurodani was its performing arts building, set opposite the academic buildings and opening to the courtyard. Its placement meant it was set slightly on the hill that bordered the campus, overlooking everything else. As he’d walked up the slightly sloped sidewalk to the doors, he felt awkward and unprepared - percussion wasn’t able to bring instruments like the rest of the band, though he’d brought his own sticks, and they were burning a hole in his backpack. He took them out just so he had something to hold. 

He was surprised to see the hallway was mostly his classmates, and a few other middle school kids, no sight of the high schoolers. It was currently about five, well after school had ended, but only an hour before the game was slated to begin. He stayed to himself until their band director called them into the empty choir room to warm up, giving them a few last-minute warnings to be gracious to their hosts. 

Then, they’d been sent off to meet their sections. Akaashi hadn’t yet seen the percussion, and he didn’t see any of his classmates either, so he cautiously made his way outside, looking around for a sign of where he should be going. 

Other middle schoolers were gathering with their own - clarinets by the fence, trombones at one of the benches, flutes to themselves in the center of the sidewalk - but still no percussion at all, and Akaashi’s stomach dropped as he wondered if he was the only one who had showed. When the high schoolers began to file out, looking official in their sharp black-and-gold uniforms, there were only winds, and it only served to worsen his anxiety. 

It was then that he’d be ambushed. 

“Hey, hey!” 

Akaashi whirled around, still clutching sticks in hand, as the voice came from behind his back. It took a minute for his eyes to focus on the monochrome color palette, Fukurodani uniform blending with gold eyes and white hair and a shiny, brass tenor saxophone. 

“You’re a middle school kid, right?” the high schooler asked, clearly unfazed by how he’d startled Akaashi. “You don’t have to be freaked out by me! We’re supposed to help!”

Akaashi just nodded in understanding, still startled and a little confused. 

“What are you doing out here alone?”

“Oh, I…” he cleared his throat, finding his voice. “I’m percussion, but I don’t see them anywhere. I’m the only one from my school.”

The boy’s face lit up, his eyes darting to the sticks in Akaashi’s hand as he made a late realization. “Drumline?! That’s so cool! What do you play?”

“I play snare. My name’s Akaashi, yours is…?”

“Oh! I got so excited I forgot to introduce myself. It’s Bokuto!” he held up his saxophone proudly as he said, “Tenor!”

“Nice to meet you, Bokuto-san. Do you know where the - where drumline would be?”

“They’re still setting up, but I’m sure they’ll be out soon. I can wait with you if you want, so you’re not alone.”

Akaashi was about to tell him that wouldn’t be necessary, but Bokuto launched back into conversation anyway. If he had to be with his section right now, he clearly didn’t care. 

“Are you thinking about joining the marching band, Akaashi? Are you coming to Fukurodani?”

Akaashi found it hard to look him in the eyes for more than a few moments at a time. It was like staring at the sun. “I don’t actually know. I didn’t have any idea what to expect with marching band, so I suppose that’s why I’m here.”

“Well, I hope we convince you!” Bokuto’s grin hadn’t faltered throughout their entire conversation. “We have a lot of fun here. It’s hard work, but I don’t know who I’d be without marching band!”

_ I don’t understand how it could be that important,  _ thought Akaashi, but he didn’t dare question Bokuto’s enthusiasm. 

“Are you seventh or eighth grade?”

“Eighth,” Akaashi answered easily, snapped back to reality. “And you, Bokuto-san?”

“Freshman! That means if you go to Fukurodani next year, we could be in band together!” Before Akaashi could react to this, Bokuto’s hand had swung up and over to land on top of Akaashi’s head. “You’re officially my freshman! I’m calling it!”

He was too stunned to speak at that moment, with Bokuto’s hand on his head and his smile beaming at him. The moment only lasted a few seconds, then Bokuto was called away by his section and the drumline finally emerged from the performing arts building. 

Bokuto kept his eyes on him as he took back his hand and waved enthusiastically. “Bye, ‘Kaashi! Have fun tonight!”

And just like that, he was gone, the feeling of his hand still seeping through Akaashi’s ruffled hair. 

Perhaps it was meant to be, that Akaashi enjoyed himself that night. That he smiled more than band had ever made him smile before. That he kept looking down from the top of the stands to see the black-and-white hair whipping around as Bokuto danced to the pep tunes, swinging his saxophone around so much that Akaashi was surprised he didn’t hit anyone. Perhaps it was just chance that he watched the tenor saxophones the whole time they were on the field, looking for a certain one, and then his eyes landed on one that looked identical to every other band member on the field, except Akaashi could  _ feel _ how he played with his whole heart, and marched like he’d never see that field again. 

Maybe it was meant to be that he chose Fukurodani, or maybe it was Bokuto.

* * *

The show ends and he hits his last notes, a classic  _ tri-pl-et one, _ then throws his sticks down to his sides. The only thing he can feel in this moment of adrenaline is his body forcing him to  _ breathe, breathe, breathe  _ as his chest heaves, sweat gathering at the band of his shako, muscles still thrumming with the energy brought on by the excitement of performance. Three seconds seems much, much longer as he looks up to where Bokuto is frozen on the podium, and when they make eye contact he realizes with a jolt that the drum major had been looking for him too. 

Two more seconds pass. He sees Bokuto crack him a grin. Akaashi raises the stick in his right hand to tap out the beat that they’ll exit the field to. 

Bokuto finds him as soon as the band is off the field and out of sight of the spectators. Everyone breaks out of being serious and composed, running to each other to laugh and smile and hug and congratulate one another on the performance. He can’t help but let his lips curl up into a smile when Bokuto’s white-gloved hands reach over his snare to grab his arms, shaking him slightly in his excitement, his face glowing and tears starting to gather in his eyes. 

“Akaashi,” he says, “We did it.”

“Yeah,” he replies, “We did.”

There’s no  _ I think. _ There’s no  _ Maybe that was good enough for finals.  _ No doubt. That was it.

“I think that might be the best performance we’ve ever done,” Bokuto continues, breathless.

Akaashi doesn’t answer because he’s pulling his harness up over his head, setting his snare carefully down next to them, and his intuition was right because as soon as the barrier of a drum is out of the way Bokuto surges forward to crush Akaashi against his chest and bury his face in his shoulder. Akaashi returns the hug gratefully because this is Bokuto, and Bokuto had changed him in the past three years and helped him come out of his shell and brought him to love the small ways his bandmates say that they love him, and more than anything to love the way that he and Bokuto had connected like no one he’d ever had. 

They stayed like that, hugging, and when Bokuto started crying a few quiet tears into his shoulder he just hugged him tighter, let him catch his breath. Akaashi knew that a Bokuto wouldn’t lose his composure in front of the band, even if the bittersweet emotion of his senior year’s semifinals was getting to him.

When Bokuto stepped away, Akaashi reached up a thumb to wipe at his eyes. “Stop that. This isn’t your last performance.”

Bokuto just laid a hand around his wrist gently, smiling.

Later, on the bus, Bokuto had slid down so his knees propped up against the seat in front of him. His head is resting on Akaashi’s shoulder, and Akaashi lets him, because it’s late and dark and everyone else is asleep anyway. 

The streetlights throw long lines of dim light across the bus as they travel back to the school in silence. Besides that it’s pitch dark, the invitational’s awards ceremony having ended a little after nine o’clock. Their second-place plaque is resting in Bokuto’s lap, and the Percussion Caption award is in Akaashi’s.

“‘Kaashi,” says Bokuto sleepily, quietly. Then, in his sleepy haze, he amends, quieter, “Keiji.”

Akaashi had thought he was asleep. “Hmm?”

“Do you wanna know something?”

“What is it, Bokuto-san?”

He pouts at the honorific, but continues. “You know drum majors don’t actually conduct the band?”

Akaashi can’t help it, he lets out a little laugh. “Of course you do. We wouldn’t be right without you.”

“No, I mean… I count off, sure. But to keep in time, y’know, with the light and sound delay, it’s never gonna be right, so-” he cuts off, giving up on his explanation of the physics of marching bands. “Drum majors watch drumline to stay in time. They’re - you’re - the backbone of the band. I watch your marching to keep time.”

He thinks he’s heard about this sometime in his drumline career, at least the part about drumline keeping the band’s time. He knows that much, as percussion captain. But Bokuto had been specific. 

“You mean you watch drumline march, right? What if we get out of time with each other?” Akaashi asks.

“No, I mean I watch you.  _ Your _ marching. You’re never out of time.”

That’s fundamentally untrue, but Akaashi takes the compliment. 

Bokuto settles further into the crook of his shoulder. “I couldn’t conduct this band without you, Keiji.”

By the time Akaashi has thought up a response to that, Bokuto is really asleep, mouth hanging open and arms limp around the award he’s clutching. It’s almost endearing. 

Akaashi turns his face away to look out the window, watching the scenery become familiar as they get closer to the school. What Bokuto had said sticks with him, rolling over and over in his head. Of course Bokuto could do this without him. Akaashi could’ve very well picked another school, and their first and last meeting would have been in the shadow of the performing arts building when Akaashi was still in middle school. 

But he didn’t and just the thought of not being at Fukurodani, in this band, in this exact moment in time, makes him sick. And Bokuto  _ could _ run this band without him, but he’d made it clear in the past that he  _ didn’t want to. _

If Bokuto needed him, he’d be there. He’d already decided that. And he was just fine letting Bokuto take the spotlight, be the star of the show, stand on the podium, the reputation of the band on his shoulders. He would be there, center snare, a metronome to keep them grounded. Bokuto could wear the white of the drum major’s uniform and stand in front of the band and tell them the whole world was watching, because then he’d look at Akaashi, and he’d know who he was talking about.

And Akaashi would always watch.

**Author's Note:**

> bokuaka nation rise up bokuaka canon
> 
> in case you're unawares, "percussion caption award" just means they scored the highest in the judging for the percussion category. there's several categories (perc, auxiliary, visual, general effect, music) that get added together to make the band's final score. and a shako is just the marching band hat sdjfks look it up


End file.
